Attentions
by ChaoticReverie
Summary: Arcee hates being overlooked. Not much to warn about here, surprisingly. A bit of suggestive hinting and some minor, non-graphic violence.


**First crack at a TFP fic, and I'm afraid my 'Transformers Encyclopedia' is likely a bit lacking. If anyone notices I've used an incorrect term, or if you just wanted to tell me a few for future reference that would be wonderful. I do know some of the basics, but I am by no means an expert on the subject.**

 **So, Arcee and Megatron… a bit of a rare pairing, but this idea has been floating around in my head for a while now, and I needed to get it written down. I quite like it! So here it is, for you to hopefully enjoy also…**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or any of its characters, nor am I making any money from this story. Simply for my enjoyment and yours.**

Ducking behind a narrow outcropping, the two-wheeler weighed her options, venting hard. She was – at the moment – undamaged, but a quick glance at her companions revealed they were not so lucky. Bumblebee's wounds seemed mostly superficial (though it was hard to tell at this distance), but the steady stream of energon leaking from somewhere near Bulkhead's left rotator cup bespoke the need of immediate medical attention.

'Not that he'd ever _admit_ to needing it,' she mused. 'Stubborn lug.'

She leaned against the stone slab at her back, shifting slowly to peer around her temporary shield. It seemed they had most of their cargo shipped out already, and were now ushering the final palettes through a ground bridge.

'Scrap,' she hissed to herself, watching crate after crate of their precious lifeblood disappear into the swirling green vortex. They _really_ needed that energon.

Apparently, so too did the Decepticons, why else would their leader take it upon himself to oversee the transport of this particular shipment? Megatron rarely ever partook in such tasks, but when he did, it meant the endeavor was one of import.

Arcee decided now was not the best time to lament the loss; she had a comrade to assist.

"Ratchet, we need a ground bridge," she patched through. "Have the medical bay ready."

Moments later the portal opened, and she ordered firmly, "Bee, get him in there! I'll cover you!"

The scout nodded in agreement, hurrying to Bulkhead's side and helping the weighty wrecker to his pedes.

Sliding out from behind her cover, Arcee drew the drone's fire with a few well-placed shots. One unlucky Con took the brunt of her assault, collapsing in a smoldering heap on the cave floor; the others were quick to retaliate. The seconds ticked by in slow motion as she strained to keep herself out of their line of fire, the moment stretching for what felt like a small eternity before the medic finally gave her the 'all clear', ordering her to return to base.

She turned, managing only a few running steps toward the ground bridge before a shot fired across her faceplate, so close she felt the sting of its heat. The suddenness of her stop sent her sprawling to the ground, a grunt leaving her voice box as she hit the dirt hard. She couldn't have been certain if it had been a fluke, or if one of Megatron's drones actually knew how to aim, but what she _did_ know was that if she didn't get up in an instant, she was royally fragged.

She tried to stand, but found herself unable, the abruptness of the impact rendering her momentarily unsteady. When her optics came back into focus, the first thing she saw was a trio of Vehicons hurrying toward her, weapons at the ready. She extended an arm, leveling her blaster at the oncoming enemy.

"Enough!"

Megatron's commanding voice was all it took to stop them dead in their tracks, helms swivelling in question at their leader.

"We have what we came for," the towering Decepticon bit out, motioning for his troops to follow as he turned and strode through the portal.

The lot of them cast a fleeting look her way before glancing at one another. Shrugging, they lowered their weapons and retreated, hurrying along after their master until none remained. The bridge slid shut, the confused two-wheeler staring after them in complete and utter bewilderment.

"Arcee, do you read?!" Ratchet's voice crackled, urgency coloring his tone.

Blinking, she responded, "Affirmative."

"Do you require assistance?"

"No, I'm coming," the femme replied, pushing herself to her pedes and casting one final look at the now empty cave. Venting once in what could have been considered the Cybertronian equivalent of a huff, she sprinted into the portal.

"What happened?" Ratchet demanded as she came through, optic ridges beetled in distress.

"I… fell," she divulged slowly.

"Fell?" the medic repeated, clearly concerned.

She nodded, touching her faceplate where the shot had seared metal. "I nearly took a hit… it threw me off. I fell."

"Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine. How's Bulkhead?"

He vented tiredly, placing his servos on his hip-plates. "He'll live, though he may be out of commission for a while. The break will be easy enough to repair, though he's lost a substantial amount of energon."

She nodded, relieved that they'd been able to get him back to base so quickly. Had they taken any longer, there was a good chance Ratchet wouldn't have been able to stabilize him in time.

'By all rights I should be up there with him,' she mused. It was a fragging miracle she was still in one piece. 'Those Vehicons were practically on top of me… so why did he stop them? Why would _Megatron_ of all mechs allow an enemy to escape?'

"You should get some recharge."

The medic's words pulled her from her contemplations, vivid optics rolling up to meet his. She knew recharge would likely be impossible now with so much to think on, but arguing with Ratchet was hardly ever fruitful. Deciding to appease him, she nodded in affirmation, and began to short walk to her quarters.

The halls were quiet, the steady clack of her pedes against the floor echoing in the vacant space. Yet she hardly noticed, too engrossed in thoughts of her recent encounter to pay attention to much else. It didn't make sense! What possible reason could he have to let her go? She'd always known him to be ruthless, to strike down an enemy whenever the opportunity presented itself, even if it meant lying, manipulating, _betrayal_! So why leave her?

Had he been in a rush to return to the Nemesis? No, that didn't make sense. Megatron was many things, but _brash_ he was not. In her disoriented state, it would have taken only a nanoklik for the trio of Decepticon soldiers to finish her off. So time was likely not the issue, but then _what was_?

Stopping in front of the door that lead to her assigned room, she punched in the code, moving to seat herself on her berth as the panel slid aside and the lights flickered on. Resting her helm in her servos, Acree replayed the scene again, wondering what would drive the merciless Decepticon warlord to spare a defenseless enemy.

"It's so unlike him," she muttered to herself, though after a moment's thought she came to the realization that perhaps it _wasn't_. It was – in fact – the fourth time he had spared her.

When she had attempted to infiltrate the Nemisis to save Optimus, he'd merely had his Communications Officer transport her elsewhere instead of having his men gun her down. Or in the desert, he could have sliced her to pieces with the Dark Star Saber easily.

'And then there was the time I returned with Jack from Cybertron. He had me… in his grasp. He could have crushed me like a scraplet, but he didn't.' She remembered the feeling of his sharp digits wrapped firmly around her torso, the hellish glow of his eyes as he realised the nature of their ruse. Why hadn't he done it? She'd cost him Optimus, after all!

It made no sense.

'Maybe he doesn't view me as a threat.'

It was a possibility, she realised, though the idea of being dismissed in such a way made anger curl inside of her. She was small compared to most, but she was not to be overlooked. The amount of damage she had inflicted upon Megatron's forces was considerable, though she had no way of knowing what went on inside of his twisted processor. What she _did_ know was that there were a great many Cybertronians who overlooked two-wheelers because of their size, and it was quite possible that he fell into that narrow-minded category.

'How dare he,' she seethed, recalling the way he'd so flippantly ordered the return of his men, not even sparing her a glance as he went. 'If he doesn't think of me as a threat… he's more a fool than I thought.'

Arcee vented hard, leaning back to lay flat across her berth. She stared unblinking at the ceiling, promising herself that after their next encounter Megatron would know just how much of a threat she could be.

* * *

Little more than a month had passed since she'd last seen him, and the fiery indignation she felt toward the tyrannical warlord had yet to diminish. It blazed brightly within her, and she itched for the opportunity to prove to him – and to herself – that she was not one to be trifled with.

"Hey, check this out!"

Shaken from her silent considerations, Arcee glanced across the room at their youngest human ally, his tone suggesting he'd discovered something of interest.

Bumblebee whirred inquisitively.

"See for yourself," Raph responded, angling his laptop so the yellow mech had a clearer view.

"UFO sighting?" Jack asked, studying the strange craft on the screen.

The scout made a series of quick, urgent sounds, turning toward Optimus as he relayed their findings.

"Not a UFO," the boy corrected. "Bee says it's a Decepticon ship."

"A Decepticon _cargo_ ship," the Prime observed as he neared, recognising the model.

Raphael scrolled to the bottom of the post. "This picture is new. It was put up less than five minutes ago, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado."

Ratchet turned from his console, regarding their leader. "You're not planning on going?"

Optimus nodded, expression serious as he replied, "I believe it would be in our best interest."

"The Decepticons will likely not be far behind, if they are not there already," the medic reminded.

"I am aware, but the possible rewards that this endeavor might yield are too great not to do so. It is not every day we have the opportunity to pilfer supplies from our enemies."

The orange and white mech frowned, but nodded nonetheless. In these desperate times, even Ratchet knew that calculated risks had to be taken.

"You will remain at base," he instructed their medic before turning to address the others. "The rest of you are with me. Autobots, let's roll out."

Smokescreen gave his customary anticipatory whoop, Bulkhead and Bumblebee bumping servos as they trailed their leader. Arcee was quiet, a single thought echoing through her processor.

'Will _he_ be there?'

The notion made her scowl, yet at the same time a part of her hoped he would be, so that she could show him how _wrong_ he was to overlook her. Her recent musings had turned this desire to confront him into somewhat of an obsession, and she promised herself that if he _was_ indeed present, she would not let him get away without putting her point across.

The ground bridge hummed to life, and the lot of them wasted no time in passing though, Optimus at the head of the group. Arcee trailed at the back, nervous anticipation clawing through her frame.

Their exiting point was on a small ridge overlooking the crash site, and – as they had expected – the enemy had indeed beat them to their target.

"Bulkhead, Smokescreen, the two of you will come with me. Fan out and disperse their fire," Optimus instructed. "Bumblebee and Arcee, board the ship covertly and see if there are any supplies left to pilfer. Do not engage unless necessary."

Nodding in affirmation, the two-wheeler and scout held back, watching the others as they scaled the ridge and engaged the Vehicons, drawing them away from the target. Moving silently the pair skirted the crest of the outcropping, moving to the rear of the spacecraft and out of sight. Here they descended and crept to the hatch, pausing momentarily as another group of drones exited the ship. Leaping onto the ramp, Arcee scanned the entrance before motioning for her partner to follow suit. A short ways in, the hall divided into two separate passages, one angling upward while the other curved down.

"One goes toward the cargo hold, the other… likely the cockpit," the two-wheeler speculated.

Bumblebee nodded, whirring his response.

"Agreed, but as soon as you need backup, you contact me," she demanded, turning down the left hall as he went right.

The corridor was empty, the light 'clack' of her pedes against the floor the only sound that filled the space. The absence of noise was promising; it likely meant that all of the drones had cleared out to help fend off the others, which gave her and Bee just the opening they needed.

Slowing as she neared a curve in the hallway, she peered around the corner, grinning when she spotted an unguarded door. Arcee approached cautiously, taking note of the control panel on the wall. Her blaster made short work of the casing, and with a quick yank of some wires it slid soundlessly open.

The contents of the cargo hold were sparse, mostly picked clean, but there were still enough odds and ends lying around for her to sift through. Hopefully she would find something of use. She wasted no time, not certain how much of it she had.

A few cycles later, and the two-wheeler had come to the disheartening realisation that there was little to nothing of value here. Scraps, really. Still, it wouldn't hurt to pick through it for a little longer…

Her back struts stiffened at the sound of someone approaching, and judging by the volume and rate of the steps, she could safely assume it wasn't Bumblebee. She _knew_ that sound. Every Autobot worth their salt knew who those heavy, ominous pedesteps belonged to. Her spark fluttered a little faster, her optics widening as the approach ceased.

She tucked into a roll, blasters out as she came to a stop. His gaze was probing and red, and every bit as sharp as his blade-like digits. Anticipation tingled along every limb, weeks of frustration and anxiousness finally coming to an end!

Then… he did the unthinkable. He turned from her, without a word, without a second glance. She had her blasters pointed right at him… and he turned his back on her! Here she was, on _his_ ship, rummaging through _his_ supplies, and he was going to disregard her! Rage spiralled through her at the blatant dismissal, and before she could stop herself she was charging toward him.

"No! You won't ignore me again!"

He turned with a snarl, throwing up an arm to block her shots.

She leapt at him, switching out blasters for blades, intent on carving him a little reminder of just how much of a threat she posed. Maybe then he would think twice about giving her his back!

But she realized her lapse quickly enough, for – despite his size – Megatron had never been slow. Reaching out, he snagged her from the air in one massive servo, slamming her to the floor with enough force to make her denta ache. Her helm spun momentarily, and before she was able to counterattack, he had her arms pinned as well. He knelt and lowered himself over her, enormous frame filling her vision until there was only a foot or so separating them.

She braced herself for the pain that was sure to come, regret filling her. Was this _really_ what she had wanted? Would her death prove anything, aside from how foolish she had been?

"Enough."

The terse utterance was barely above a whisper, but she heard it clearly enough. Suddenly nothing mattered. Not her foolishness, nor the futility of struggling, not even her survival mattered at that moment, the only thing she could think about was her indignation.

Thrashing madly in his steely grip, she cried out, "No! It's not enough!"

He scowled. "Cease your fruitless efforts, femme!"

She lashed out at him with one of her pedes, managing to kick him in the plastron once before he was bearing down on her again, leaning so that his chassis was practically pinning her to the floor. "How dare you chastise me like I'm some unruly sparkling?! I'm as much a warrior as any of the others!"

Here she was, yet again, at his mercy, and he made no move to end her existence. Had she been anyone else he wouldn't have hesitated. Optimus, Bumblebee, even _Smokescreen_ , all of them would be offline by now, but he chose to spare her again. Her life was quite literally in his servos, and he did nothing but scold her?!

"Why?!" she spat.

He lifted an optic ridge at the question, and she elucidated, "Why do you keep sparing me?! I'm an Autobot; your sworn enemy! You've had so many chances, and still I live! Do you not consider me a threat?!"

His deep, coarse laughter filled her audio-receptors.

"I'm not such a fool. I have seen the damage you can inflict."

Arcee gawked up at him, shaking her helm in confusion. "Then… why?"

"I do not think you would like the answer to that question."

"WHY?! No more dismissals! I want to know why?!" the two-wheeler pressed, her impatience getting the better of her.

Megatron narrowed his optics at the demand. "Very well."

Arcee grimaced as he slid his free servo between them, clasping her jaw. "That lumbering oaf, Bulkhead, and even that tiresome rookie… I could ignore them, but you… never. It is quite irksome, actually, just how incapable I am of disregarding you."

The tip of one razor-edged digit slid over her lip component, and her spark stuttered as she processed the look he was wearing. She shook her helm in disbelief. "No!"

The Decepticon leader ignored the outburst, continuing, "I suppose I could lie, claim that I spare you because you are among the last of the femmes known to exist. And while it is entirely true that _your_ survival is pivotal to the survival of our race, my reasons are actually far more selfish than that."

She clenched her optics shut, stammering, "N-No! This isn't… this can't-"

"You wanted answers, didn't you?" Megatron hissed, leaning so close that she could feel the heat from his frame. She bucked as hard as she could, trying to dislodge him, but it did nothing. Her strength was paltry in comparison to his. "These minute interactions of ours are all I can allow myself. We are at war, after all, and I cannot afford distractions."

His servo slid lower, the tip of each long digit caressing her neck cables and over her chest plates. He caught her gaze as her optics flew open, drawling, "No matter how tempting they may be."

Arcee went still, fear painting her features. The smile he wore was anything but pleasant, his leer making her wish she'd kept quiet.

"But if it's my attention you seek, you needn't fret. When this war is concluded, and the Decepticons take up their rightful place once more, few will hold more of my attentions than you."

His wandering servo stopped over her spark, and he pressed down, carving a thin line into the plating there. She winced, a moan of pain frozen in her voice box as she stared up at his deranged expression. She couldn't move, didn't even think to call the others, her mind and body paralyzed with dread.

A sudden shot from behind had Megatron snarling, and he twisted around, canon outstretched, to engage his attacker.

Awareness surged through her when she saw the flash of bright yellow paint, and the instant the tyrant's grip on her loosened she slid free and shifted to her altmode, speeding past him toward the door.

Bee was behind her an instant later, engine revving as they fled. The halls, once empty, were filling up with drones, all of whom had undoubtedly heard the commotion. Arcee slipped easily between them, followed closely by the striped muscle car as he ploughed through the small knot of soldiers. The pair burst from the exit, and Optimus and the others were quick to provide them with cover fire as they made their retreat. The vibrant light of a ground bridge flared up before them, and the two-wheeler was all too eager to use it, not bothering to look back. When the greenish glow subsided, they were safely back at base.

Smokescreen was the first to speak. "Find anything good?"

The young scout shook his helm, and all optics turned to Arcee. The two-wheeler didn't respond, didn't even look up from the floor until a set of familiar yellow pedes entered her line of vision. Blinking, she glanced up at them, floundering a second before responding, "I-I didn't find anything of use. It was picked through."

The scout placed a servo tentatively on the back of the arm. He gave a worried hum when she met his gaze. She waved him off, "Its fine."

"Were you injured, Arcee?" Optimus inquired, inspecting her frame for damage. His optics narrowed when he caught sight of the mark on her placard, and he bent to inspect it more closely.

The two-wheeler looked up into the concerned face of her leader, thinking to herself that he was burdened enough as it was. He didn't need that on his processor as well. She responded vaguely, "I had a brief run in with Megatron, but Bee showed up before any real damage could be done. I'm fine, _really._ It's only a scratch."

"We are most fortunate, then," he replied, righting himself.

"Yeah," she agreed lowly, a slight shudder wracking her at the thought of what might have happened otherwise. She cursed her pride. Had it not been for her stubbornness, she would not be in this position, would not be plagued by the fear that now coiled through her like a serpent.

Optimus took note of her unease, thinking she was perhaps a little more shaken than she was letting on. Arcee was – had always been – fearless. This sort of response seemed so unnatural for the proud femme.

"A day will come where Megatron will answer for his crimes," the tall mech assured her. "We _will_ end the Decepticon threat, no matter how long it takes."

The warlord's dark promise echoed in the back of her processor, and she prayed that her leader was right, for _all_ their sakes.

 **Well, there we are.**

 **A part of me is really considering writing a follow-up to this oneshot, perhaps a dark little 'what if' story… Lemme know if you agree with the idea?**


End file.
